Uninvited
by gummywhale
Summary: Ivan Braginski feels he is losing his mind, and there's nothing he can do about it. Then one day, a young man named Alfred shows up at his doorstep, proclaiming himself Ivan's new roommate. AU, IvanxAlfred, rated for safety
1. Chapter 1

The light had not touched his soul in a very, very long time. It avoided him like a butterfly avoided the cold winter months. Any beam of light that so easily settled in the eyes of the rosy-cheeked passersby on the street below the one tiny window of his apartment would wither and fade like those frozen brightly-colored wings…

Had he slept at all this past week? Between the drained bottles of vodka and the restless, flitting rose-colored memories of a distant past, there had been no time left for even brief respite. He felt so, so tired. Even through tightly shut eyelids he could feel the few cruel rays of morning sunshine that had managed to make it past the cheap white shades over that one cursed window. His whole body burned from the light and the alcohol and that very pain he had drunk so much to relieve. Just laying there seemed to be safe, but he couldn't stay like this forever; there was work to be done. Working from home had its perks, like never having to leave the apartment, but there were still set hours to follow.

One violet eye opened gingerly, and then the other. Catching sight of himself in the mirror the previous occupants of the room had left hanging on the door, the man quickly looked away. Ivan Braginski had seen better days. Skin that had once glowed with health and youth through the coldest of winds and brightest sunlight now seemed unusually pale in the semidarkness of the room. He was quite tall, but his figure looked almost frail. Dark shadows under the shining eyes and a nearly empty vodka bottle clasped weakly in a thin hand completed the pitiful image. At least no one could see him like this, Ivan decided. He set the bottle down carefully onto the dusty carpet and pushed himself into a sitting position on the worn striped couch. Like every other piece of furniture in the apartment, it had belonged to the previous occupants and was exceptionally ugly. Ivan hadn't bothered with décor. He even doubted that he had a working phone: the thing hung innocently on the wall but he had never had to pay any phone bills. There wasn't anyone who would call anyway, and you could order pizza online here (something Ivan greatly appreciated). The only things in the room that were his were the countless bottles and pizza boxes strewn over the floor and the computer that resided on the otherwise unused dining table. It was an old machine, but reliable for work. The thought of the good pay he would lose by being late to his job spurred Ivan to haul his aching body from the mass of cheap material and creaking springs.

Even through the glass of the window, he could hear the sounds of the bustling city below. Laughter and wailing sirens drifted into the dusty room, dragging Ivan's thoughts deeper into melancholy. He tried to isolate himself, to shut off the sounds, anything to feel less alone. He so very much wanted a place where he could forget everything, to concentrate on his work. But instead all he had was a filthy two-room apartment and pizza boxes on which he would often absentmindedly doodle the sunflowers he so longed to see again.

Another mouthful of the liquid from the bottle at his side did not dispel these thoughts. He still felt like a useless failure. To end his life would be a favor to the world…

"Shut up," he growled at his thoughts, grabbing hold of the lank locks on his head, pulling as if the pain in his scalp would stop the constant rambling of his mind. It wouldn't be the first time he heard voices. Another drink would do him good, and then to work.

Humming no tune in particular, Ivan set about looking for a fresh bottle. He stumbled towards the machine on the dinner table, jiggling the mouse to awaken the monitor. He kept the computer on constantly. The sound had often lulled him to sleep at night, before this strange insomnia.

His life was right on schedule. He would work for three hours now, then would order pizza and have his lunch break. Then work until six. Then try to sleep and fail miserably.

A loud knock startled Ivan from his reverie. His first thought was pizza delivery. But he hadn't even ordered yet. Then it could only be trouble, he decided. There was no one to come over just to say hello.

The knocking persisted. It most likely wouldn't be some official, Ivan thought. They knocked in a more dignified manner. This guy, whoever he was, was too obnoxious.

"I'm coming," he shouted irritably over the racket of fist-on-wood. He unbolted the door and opened it just a crack. He figured that even the sight of a narrowed violet eye and a loud voice with a Russian accent would be intimidating enough. "What is it," he growled even before he could look at the unexpected visitor properly.

"Mr. Braginski?" the bright male voice chimed through the grimy hallway. Through the crack in the door, Ivan caught sight of a lock of hair so blonde and shiny that it put the fluorescent lighting around the man to shame.

"That's me," Ivan didn't even try to sound polite and welcoming. The man's smiling face and blue eyes sparkling with life only made Ivan dislike him even more.

The man beamed at what he could see of Ivan and heaved up the two battered suitcases that had stood at his feet. "Great!" he exclaimed, pushing the door aside and Ivan along with it. Before the bewildered man knew what hit him, a warm hand was vigorously shaking his own cold one.

"The name's Alfred F. Jones!" came the slightly belated introduction, "You're doorbell's broken. Oh, and by the way, I'm your new roommate! Nice to meet you!"

_What_? Of all things, Ivan could not have foreseen this. Of course, there were two rooms in the apartment, not counting the kitchen, and one of them was all but unused. But shouldn't he have a word in this?

"And w-who told you that you could room in _my_ apartment?"

"Well, I saw this advert in the newspaper," the man, Alfred, was busy bouncing around the room, poking and grabbing things as if they were his own, "You know, it's kinda messy in here. And dark," he seemed to get distracted very easily, "Had some Chinese guy's name under it, like Wang or something, ha!" with a comical double take, he stopped to look Ivan over once more. The man suddenly felt very uncomfortable in his stained t-shirt and old sweat pants. Alfred's clothes were much better: a brown pilot jacket with a '50' printed on the back and a pair of clean, new-looking blue jeans. "You're not Chinese," Alfred said at last.

Brilliant. Just brilliant.

"Oh waaait!" Alfred jumped up again. He had way too much energy, in Ivan's opinion, "They said the other guy and his family moved out, but the offer was still open. Ivan Braginski, yeah, that's what they said. They said they'd give you a call."

This guy was a genius. He had come to the right place, looking for the right man, but had forgotten that it was Ivan he had asked for at the door in the first place. Ivan felt a headache coming on. Just what he needed.

"I don't have a phone," he said shortly, leaning back against the wall, "No one told me about this."

He sank back against the cold painted surface. Despite the headache and the intruder's constant ramblings, he suddenly felt very tired…


	2. Chapter 2

Ok, this better work...

Thank you so much for the great reviews, and the subs and favorites as well! They really made my day :)

As you've probably guessed, this is my first fanfic so all the positive feedback really means a lot to me. Plus I'm still playing around with the formatting so I might mess something up.

So here it is, if I did everything right. Chapter 2. hehe.

* * *

"…And we'll have to clean up in here if we're gonna invite people over, you know?"

No, Ivan did not know. He didn't have time for this, he had work to do. And this guy talked too much. Much to his own dread, Ivan felt his lips curl up into a small grin, one that, if the dangerous aura emanating from the Russian could be ignored, could be thought of as endearing.

"Leave," he said softly, "Now."

All he got in return was an apologetic smile. "Well, I've got nowhere else to go," Alfred said at once, hefting his two suitcases. Ivan briefly wondered if that was all he'd brought along. Most people rented vans to carry all their useless junk. Alfred stood among the debris on the floor, looking around with a vacant expression while Ivan waited.

He still felt that despicable smile on his own pale face. Yes, a complete stranger barging in on him was very unacceptable, but the worst part was that Ivan, who should have long ago threatened him with that old metal water pipe he kept beside the door for such visitors, did not really want him to leave. Alfred had brought light and noise into the room, something Ivan usually strove to avoid these days, especially in such copious amounts. But the thought of being left alone once more in the dust and darkness was unbearable.

Alfred, completely unaware both of Ivan's outward anger and inward turmoil, brightened up quite suddenly. "I guess you're stuck with me then!" he said, sounding way too happy, "I already made a down payment, non-refundable, so we're gonna be the best roommates ever! Yeah!" he punched the air triumphantly, glasses askew.

Ivan felt uncertain. What was he supposed to do, let Alfred live here, try to deny his existence, and keep on living his life? Somehow, that seemed impossible. Like his sister always used to say: _Поживём,__увидим._"Your room is down that hall," he told the man stiffly, "You will find that everything is in order. And," he added before Alfred could rush out to see his new domain, "It should not be hard for us to keep out of each others' way."

Alfred's face fell slightly, but his blue eyes still shone with excitement. "Come on, Ivan, that's no fun!" he whined.

All Ivan could do was treat him to that smile once again and shake his head, "My dear Alfred," he said sweetly, "Could we perhaps discuss this later? I have work, you see. Maybe you have some things to take care of, da?"

"Ivaaan."

Something was calling his name. Bright light shone through his eyelids. All he could see was white.

"Ivaaan. Ivaaan…"

_Mother, have you come to take me to heaven at last? I have waited for so long…_

"Don't ignore the hero, Ivan!"

His eyes flew open at once while his hand flew to the half-empty bottle of vodka beside the couch. Ivan's eyes were at once assaulted by the light from the ornate lamp that hung so conveniently over his head. Fighting to catch sight of the source of the voice while covering his eyes from the worst of the light, Ivan could barely make out a dark figure standing over him.

"What do you want?" he groaned. He'd been sleeping well for once, and was still feeling very tired, but Alfred just had to come and disturb him.

Alfred jumped onto the half of the couch that Ivan had vacated during his rude awakening and bounced on the striped cushions. The creaking of the rusty springs beneath was almost deafening, but he seemed to be enjoying himself nonetheless.

"There's no bed in my room," he stated at last, "And a hero has to have a bed!"

A hero, huh? Ivan wondered if a hero would be immune to a water pipe to the head.

"And how is that my business?" he asked, "Is it not rude to wake someone up just to complain like that?"

Alfred pouted, still refusing to vacate the couch. "You weren't sleeping," he said in a disgruntled tone, "I came in to look around and you were just sitting there drinking."

"You were walking around here?" Ivan jumped up to survey the damage. He was not unpleasantly surprised to see that the debris that had once littered the floor lay neatly piled and organized by the door. He felt a brief stab of shame: Alfred just didn't seem to be the type of person who would willingly clean a room like that. He must have really hated all the filth in here to do that. He couldn't dwell on these thoughts for long, however, as the room began to spin around him.

He felt Alfred's steadying grip on his arms and soon found himself sitting on his previous side of the couch. Two blue eyes behind a pair of glasses swam into view, then a strand of blonde hair, and finally a mouth. It was Alfred's face, and it seemed to be speaking.

"Are you alright?" he seemed to be asking. His warm hands still held onto Ivan's arms. All signs of the childish hyperactivity had disappeared from Alfred's face, replaced with worry. Ivan felt heat rising up to his face. How strange, his thoughts seemed to be detached from his body, because he could in no way comprehend this reaction to Alfred's voice. Maybe he was losing it again.

Finally, he found control over his own lips. "I am fine," he choked out shakily, but regretted it almost instantly. Alfred's nose wrinkled at the overpowering smell of alcohol on his breath. Ivan felt the cushions move as Alfred sat down beside him once again. He couldn't help noticing how much closer they were to each other now. The heat from Alfred's body warmed Ivan's side, and for some reason the pace of his heartbeat sped up considerably.

"You drink a lot," he heard Alfred say in the periphery, "It's really bad for you, you know."

Ivan knew. But he also knew that he couldn't stop. _If only I could tell you why…_

Alfred continued to talk on, almost automatically. "My dad would get really weird when he got drunk. He would forget who he was, or he would start talking to the air as if someone was there. I remember he could get really scary," he shifted slightly to get a better look at Ivan, "But you drank like a gallon of that vodka stuff, and you're just sitting there. But I can see it's hurting you on the inside," he paused and then said carefully, "maybe it's not helping anymore. With whatever it is you're trying to forget, I mean."

Ivan slowly turned to look at Alfred. Now that he wasn't beaming with excessive energy and arrogance, Ivan saw how beautiful Alfred really was. These thoughts brought him back down to Earth, and he snapped his head to face forward once again. What were these thoughts?

"You are right," he said shortly, trying in vain to calm his hammering heart, "But there's little else I can do."

Alfred grabbed Ivan's hand, and even without looking the Russian could tell that he was wearing his winning smile once again. "Not to fear!" he exclaimed so loudly that Ivan mentally apologized to the neighbors, "The Hero is here! And no real hero would leave his friend in danger!"

As Ivan watched Alfred bounce around the room, he decided that he wasn't the only one here who needed help.

* * *

this text. is. grey. why. ok nvm it changed O_O

Review please? pleeease?

~next, Alfred and Ivan go to McDonald's. At 3 in the morning. What could possibly go wrong?


	3. Chapter 3

yeah, it's been a while. but this chapter's much longer than the last ones, so there!

* * *

Ivan awoke the next morning feeling surprisingly well rested. A patch of morning sunlight warmed his pale face accompanied by a slight breeze that softly ruffled his hair in passing. The window was open. He was surprised by this at first, since in all his time in this apartment Ivan had made it one of his top priorities to shut that one window and keep the shades down at all times. Keeping out all light and sound had been important. He had wanted to feel completely isolated from the world, to stave away any temptation to leave the apartment, to return to his old home and life, to see his sisters again. But Alfred (who else could it have been?) had simply marched in and pulled apart the dust-covered panes of glass without even waking Ivan in his efforts.

The voices from the passersby below assaulted Ivan's ears more loudly than ever before. Driving the final dregs of sleep from his mind, he pulled himself to his feet. He walked purposefully towards the window with every intention to shut it and then make Alfred never want to come near it again. But something forced him to stop.

As it chilled Ivan's face and arms, the wind bound his mind until it had complete control. He was bound by the cold, body and soul. The sunlight shone on his skin. Memories, now unhindered by his resolve, flowed from the deepest crevices of his brain. The cold he felt now was not from the mild spring breeze but from the memory that chilled his very bones: he remembered the frozen eyes that had mocked him three years ago, staring from a pool of deep burgundy liquid.

_The breeze stirred the woolen scarf around his neck as Ivan stood in the doorway. A bird trilled its spring song carelessly in the distance, but in the house it was silent but for lazy the drip-drip of blood, and all he saw was red, red, red… Those icy eyes held him then, captivating him in his overwhelming fear and repulsion. _

Slowly, as if struggling against unseen bonds, Ivan's head turned towards his own doorway, his gaze falling upon the metal faucet that lay innocently on the dirty doormat. All he could do was listen to his own ragged breathing as the memories overwhelmed his mind.

_The red was on his hands now, the pipe still raised in mid-air though another strike was not necessary. Yet the cold grey eyes still stared, whispered to him, "See what you are capable of." A scream was choked up in his throat along with his breath. All he could do was run._

Like a sleepwalker, Ivan turned back to the window and stepped hesitantly towards it. His light violet eyes stared forward, seeing nothing as his feet carried him down the creaking floor step by step. Tentatively, a pale hand rose to touch the air beyond the glass. A tiny scrap of his consciousness fought the power of long-repressed memories. It battered against the waves of anguish that had gripped Ivan's body. _I won't blame Alfred for this_, he decided. How could the blonde have known about his past, about why the window was always closed?

_Alfred. _

The image of those bright blue eyes flitted through Ivan's mind, blocking the grey icy glare from his memories. It melted away the fear and pain from his mind like the sun burned away heavy old the snow that pressed down on young shoots of grass. A moment of clarity was all Ivan needed to gain control of his body and slam the window shut and drag the shades down to block the blinding light. He stumbled back blindly, trying to clear the dark spots that impaired his vision. The wind was gone, but the memories remained.

Grabbing the arm of the couch for support with one hand and a full bottle of vodka with the other, Ivan dropped onto the cushions. All he could do to calm the frenzied thoughts writhing was drink. First came the flash of irrational panic when at first he felt no change, but one-third of a bottle later there were no thoughts left at all to ponder.

--

When he once again regained self-awareness, it was dark but for the dim light in the hallway. As he shifted his legs to check if they were still there, Ivan noticed that a green fleece blanket had been draped over him. He didn't remember owning a blanket.

A muffled scuffling in the hall drew his attention. As he peered in from the safe darkness of his room, he saw that the wooden wardrobe that stood opposite his door was wide open. A second later, Alfred extracted himself from the mess he had made of Ivan's few neatly-sorted belongings.

"Ivan, hey!" he cried out amicable when he saw the tall man staring groggily at him from the doorway, "I was just, ah, tidying up in here."

"I see," Ivan was proud of his own self-control at this moment.

Unhindered by the appearance of their owner, Alfred continued to rummage through the assorted belongings. "You've got some cool stuff in here," he called out.

"And did I give you permission to touch that 'cool stuff'?" Ivan ground through his teeth. In all honesty, he had forgotten what he had dumped in there. And he doubted he wanted to remember.

Alfred emerged once more, this time holding a long white scarf in his hands. This was about the worst thing he could have taken out, Ivan decided. At the sight of that old scarf, he felt the cold chills on his skin. A vague memory tickled inside his head, as if he had forgotten something that had happened recently, something important.

Oblivious to Ivan's petrified stare, Alfred dropped the uninteresting object on the ground beside his feet. Without a second thought, Ivan ran out into the hall and scooped up the worn woolen scarf, cradling gently and a little hesitantly it in his slender hands. He raised his eyes to look directly into Alfred's. Even the young blue-eyed man could clearly see the dark flames of anger burning behind the two violet irises. He took a step away from the tall Russian. The hero had to live to fight another day.

"H-hey what is it man?" he said nervously, "Sorry about your stuff, but I needed some space for my stuff too…" His voice trailed off uncertainly when he saw that these words did nothing to mollify Ivan. Not one to surrender, he kept talking. "You must be hungry though, after sleeping all day."

_All day? _"What time is it?" Ivan snapped, distracted.

Alfred answered with a look of immeasurable relief, "I got back at twelve," he said thoughtfully, "And then I couldn't sleep, so that was, like, two more hours, and then I started looking thro- ah, cleaning. So it must be like three now or something," he caught Ivan's questioning look and hurried to clarify, "In the morning."

Turning the white scarf in his hands, Ivan tuned out most of the words that followed. His sister had made it for him a long, long time ago. He had loved winter when he and his two sisters were young…

"Well, are you coming or not?" Alfred's loud voice broke into his thoughts.

He stood there, wearing his brown leather jacket, holding the main door open for the man who had not left his apartment in years. There was no way he could have known, but it shocked Ivan nonetheless.

"I'll just go by myself then, and bring you something back," the man called impatiently, with one foot already out the door.

Ivan stood watching him almost helplessly. Had it been any other complete stranger, the decision would have been clear. But this was Alfred, and for some reason Ivan did not want him to be out alone, especially at such a late hour. It was silly, he knew that, but the feeling was too strong to ignore.

The door was swinging slowly shut in Alfred's wake.

"Wait!"

"It looks really good on you, you know," Alfred told him as he and a slightly dazed Ivan made their way down a dark, deserted street. The yellow light of the streetlamps shone eerily over the expanse of sidewalk before them. Beyond the spots of light lay foreboding shadows, impenetrable to the eye.

Ivan had somehow found himself running after Alfred, carrying his long tan winter coat and the white scarf. He had donned them in spite of the mild temperatures of early spring, his fear of cold rekindled after its long dormancy in the safe, heated confines of the apartment. Ivan did not whether Alfred meant the scarf or coat, but he couldn't help but feel slightly flattered. Even the smallest of phrases, no matter how meaningless, that Alfred directed towards him made Ivan unreasonably happy.

As they walked on, Ivan could not help but cringe away from the breeze that softly ruffled his hair. It reminded him of something, like the scarf had when he had first seen it.

"Did you open the window in my room this morning?" he asked Alfred offhandedly.

The other looked at him curiously, "Yeah, you looked like you could've used the fresh air."

Ivan almost laughed. Fresh air was the one thing he simply had to avoid. Yet here he was, walking outside. It didn't seem so bad actually, with Alfred by his side. He would never have gone out by himself.

"I would appreciate it if you did not do that again," Ivan told him as tactfully as he could. He realized that if the two of them were going to live under the same roof, Alfred would have to know about some of his habits. But if he told him about his aversion to the outdoors and the cold, Alfred would most definitely demand an explanation.

"What, open the window?" Alfred said as if to clarify.

"Yes," said Ivan as patiently as he could. The initial shock he felt when he first left the apartment was wearing off, and he was beginning to feel the full effect exposure to the cold had on him. At least Alfred didn't notice when Ivan began to shiver under his heavy coat, and didn't see his face in the dark.

To Ivan's immense relief, the walk was only five minutes long. Soon he caught sight of the telltale yellow arches. He followed Alfred into the brightly lit building, taking in the omnipresent smell of grease and extensive menu with its exaggerated depictions of burgers above the counter. The place was deserted but for one red-shirted cashier and a lone brown-haired man sitting in a booth at the far end of the room. Other than the brightness of the place, nothing bothered Ivan too much. The man in the booth did arouse his suspicions, but it was three in the morning. Anyone with a reason to go to a McDonald's at such ungodly hours was bound to be a little strange. He and Alfred were no exception.

Alfred did not bother to observe his surroundings like Ivan had, but bounded up to the cashier. Ivan listened in horror as his companion ordered what seemed like the whole menu. He glanced at the cashier, a short, jittery kid, and saw his own expression mirrored in the wide blue eyes.

Ivan was surprised when it took only ten minutes to prepare every item that Alfred requested. Either the system was very efficient, or they had some superhuman night shift guy back there in the kitchen. He had to help Alfred carry the two loaded trays. Carrying at pile of burgers while trying to smell them as little as possible was a challenge, but Ivan managed to maneuver the stack of boxes onto a relatively clean table. Alfred seemed to have no problem with his portion, and seemed to have managed to snag two cups and straws as well.

"I got you water," he told Ivan, handing him one of the cups, "You seem like the kind of guy who always gets water."

Ivan had no idea how Alfred came to that conclusion, but he was nevertheless grateful. He did indeed have no interest in the concoctions of sugar and food coloring that people here called "drinks".

"Here," Alfred tossed him one of the neat little boxes, "This one's got bacon in it. Bacon makes everything better!"

Ivan took it and gingerly lifted the lid. The overpowering smell of cheese, meat, and bacon hit his nostrils. He tried not to choke right then and there. Maybe it wasn't so bad. Alfred was shoveling food down at approximately ten burgers per second, and he seemed to be alive and well, so far. Then again, high cholesterol was a slow killer.

He bit of a tiny corner of the burger and immediately washed it down with a large mouthful of water. If he ate one of these abominations very, very slowly, he and Alfred might finish as the same time and he wouldn't have to take another. He'd rather have pizza than burgers any day, more out of habit than anything.

He chanced a look in Alfred's direction, but regretted it immediately. Alfred was dipping chicken nuggets into a large strawberry milkshake, pushing them down to the bottom of the cup with a straw. Beside him a burger languished in a pool of ketchup. Fries lay scattered all over the table.

"Are you sure this is healthy?" Ivan asked him.

"Yeah, of course it is!" Alfred said through a mouthful of unidentified fast food. He was about to say something else, but a glob of ketchup dropped from the burger he was holding and plopped onto his leather jacket. "Aw man," Alfred sighed, turning to Ivan, "I'll be right back, gotta clean this up."

He wiped some of the goo off clumsily with a napkin before sliding from his seat and heading in the direction of the bathroom.

Ivan sat alone among the piles of cardboard and food, listening to the silence uneasily. The cashier had disappeared into the depths of the kitchen, and without his presence the place seemed much more eerie. Something was off.

Glancing sideways to the far corner of the room, Ivan was startled by the empty booth he saw there. The stranger had disappeared.

* * *

I smell trouble~

Thank you for reading everyone!

And thanks to everyone who commented on chapter 2! (Voodka, ScoutingForGuys, itsravensfault, Usagi323, haruka4676)

ScoutingForGuys: Oh yeah, I thought I'd put some kind of mark to separate those two parts to indicate the change in time and setting, but I guess I didn't. That's what I get for writing at two in the morning. Thanks for telling me :)


	4. Chapter 4

I think school has finally driven me insane, because this chapter is...wtf... I have no words to describe it.

Before I begin~ reply to The Fujoshi (sp?) ~ I know there are McDonald's in Russia, I've been to one. I drew Ivan's reaction from the reactions of my grandparents when they first ate there (they were like 'wtf is this sh*t?'). And I didn't think it would be as fun if they actually agreed on something. :)

* * *

Silence and artificial warmth pressed on Ivan from all sides. The emptiness of the place gave him an inexplicable sense of foreboding that he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried. It seemed that Alfred had been gone for hours. His perception of time was skewed, and what could have been minutes passed like hours in agonizing silence.

The stranger with the brown hair, or rather his absence, bothered Ivan. Suspicions burrowed in his mind like tiny wriggling insects. He gave up any hope he had for peace of mind. Growing increasingly impatient, Ivan tapped the toes of his heavy brown boots against the wall in a feeble attempt to distract himself from his own discomfort.

Finally he'd had enough. Ivan purposefully slid out from the booth and, with considerable relief, stretched out to his full height. He turned from the main part of the building and followed a short corridor to the two blue restroom doors that stood at the end. The heels of his boots clicked deafeningly and he almost cringed at how obvious his approach could seem to anyone on the other side of any of those two doors. But he had already decided to look for Alfred and the Ivan of sound mind and body he was now would never be coward enough to go back.

As he neared the door to the men's restroom, he was startled by the sound of muffled voices. Startled, but not surprised. His mind had concocted many vivid scenarios of Alfred's fate, and in most of them he wasn't alone. He had consciously dismissed the idea of the mysterious man assaulting Alfred, but it had remained in the deep recesses of his mind. His intuition hadn't let him down after all.

Curious but wary, Ivan approached the door, hoping to discern some of what was being said on the other side.

"…So if what you're saying is true, then neither Arthur nor Francis know where I am now, then how the hell'd you find me?" that was Alfred all right. Ivan recognized his voice easily, though he could hear nothing more than an agitated whisper.

Ivan could only guess that the second voice belonged to the brown-haired stranger. The calm, contained tone contrasted greatly with Alfred's voice even in a whisper. "I had worked as your personal secretary, though for a very short time," said the other man.

Alfred snorted derisively, "And I still have no idea why he said I should have one in the first place."

"So I did have access to some personal accounts that not even Arthur could get into," continued the second voice, ignoring the interruption, "I tracked you down by records of the payments you'd made. Trust me," he said apologetically, "I would never have bothered you if it wasn't urgent!"

"And how do I know you're not with either of _them_?" Alfred growled in reply, "All I want is a life of my own. They can choke on the damn inheritance for all I care. They never wanted me anyway, just the money." Ivan's heart clenched painfully at the bitterness in Alfred's voice.

"That is the problem," the other replied in the same dispassionate tone, "You are now legally the sole holder of the property in question. They cannot lay a finger on it without your exclusive permission. And they will be looking for you, Alfred."

A heavy silence followed.

"Think about it," said the second man quietly, "I don't want to see you hurt."

Ivan knew what was coming next, but his body wouldn't move quickly enough as the door swung inward to reveal him to the other two.

The man with the brown hair stepped forward, his gaze locked onto Ivan's widened eyes, a calculating expression on his thin face.

"Toris, no!" Alfred shouted, but the man, Toris, had already grabbed Ivan by the shoulder and pushed him forcefully into the blue hallway wall. He was shorter than Ivan, but he radiated both health and determination, unlike the petrified man he now held captive.

"He's heard everything," Toris shot back at Alfred, "And, according to my contract, I cannot let him walk away from here with that information."

Alfred shuffled his feet at the doorway, suddenly unsure of what to do. "Come on, dude, that's Ivan," he shouted from afar, "He's cool. He probably just had to pee or something, get away from him."

Ivan heard a metallic _snik _and looked down. He immediately wished that he hadn't. A silvery blade was grasped tightly in his attacker's slender hand, and it was pointed straight at him. His eyes widened at the sight but not, he realized, because he feared for his life. The cold eyes from years ago swam in and out of his vision, and that blade, a much larger one than the one Toris held in his hand, dripped fat crimson drops onto the stained carpet once more. Memories gripped him again, and he remembered that morning at the window, the cool breeze dragging him back to the reality he had so longed to forget. He'd forgotten so well for so long but now, now that a blade swung in his line of sight, all the vodka in the world couldn't erase the torrent of long-hidden thoughts and emotions that ran through his mind.

He felt his arms move of their own accord, felt a burning pain in his side. The world looked as if it were obscured by a semitransparent red haze. Ivan heard someone shouting. It was Alfred, he realized offhandedly. Suddenly a great force pulled him away from Toris's struggling body. Ivan sank to the floor, fists clenching unconsciously, as if they once again wanted grasp his attacker's throat.

Alfred was still struggling with Toris, shouting something unintelligible as he tried to wrestle the knife from his grasp. It was over quickly. The brown haired man wrenched himself from Alfred's grasp and just…ran off. Ivan wondered why that amused him maybe he was lightheaded from blood loss or something. He had been stabbed, right?

Now he watched as Alfred ran to him. Ivan felt as if his mind and body were no longer one. He was floating somewhere in space while Alfred's warm hand grasped his own cold one. He could barely hear his shouts, but he saw the shining blue eyes clearly, and they still drew him in as they had done before.

With some effort, he managed to open his mouth. "I told you it wasn't a good idea to live with me," he whispered sadly. _I almost killed that guy. How could someone like me even be alive? _

But Alfred didn't leave him. He did quite the opposite. As Ivan's vision grew dimmer, Alfred's face swam closer and closer to his.

"You idiot," he whispered in Ivan's ear, and his soft breath was the last thing Ivan felt before he fell into the merciful darkness.

* * *

gaaaah ninja Toris x_x so ooc, but not at the same time

I'm soooo tired, so sorry if this chap sucked.

Thanks to The Fujoshi, Elf Princess Kiri, ScoutingForGuys, haruka4676, Mjawpaws, NightSongstress, and evilqueen13 for reviewing chapter 3!

ok gotta go pass out now. bye.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry this took so long, it was done way before now, I swear! I had that one error where you couldn't edit your story, but I finally got around it now. Ok. just had to get that off my chest lol.

* * *

At first there was no pain. All Ivan felt was a searing in his side and the cold sweat on his face, but his mind was mercifully empty. He had no idea where he was and how he had gotten there, why he was lying there with his eyes screwed tightly shut.

But then something foreign and soothingly cold touched his cheek, and Ivan's eyes flew open at the unexpected feeling. Cool blue shades of early dawn floated around in his line of sight, and he had to squint to make out the features on the face that loomed over him. Alfred's eyes shone with an uncharacteristic sobriety as he watched Ivan come to his senses. He seemed older now, more serious, with his eyebrows drawn together in concern.

"Ivan, can you hear me?" Afred's voice seemed to echo through Ivan's cranium. All he could do was wince at the pain in his head and side. As he regained the usual acuity of his senses, Ivan took in his surroundings, which were, to his great surprise, very familiar. He lay on the old lumpy couch in his own room. The curtains, no matter how tightly they were pulled over the lone window, let in several stripes of pale light. What was unfamiliar were the sheets which covered Ivan's form. He couldn't see them, since he dared not risk moving his head even an inch from its position of repose, but the smell was unfamiliar, though not unpleasantly so. As he took an experimentally deep breath, Ivan inhaled the scent. It made him think of the bright summer days he missed so much.

"Ivan?" the tone of Alfred's voice grew more urgent. The Russian opened his mouth to respond, but only several sounds emerged.

"So-rry," he managed to croak through chapped lips. He heard Alfred rustle around in the periphery, and then felt the cool rim of a glass on his lips. The cold water relieved his scratchy throat. Once he had finished, Ivan found that he had regained his ability to speak clearly. And that he didn't really have anything to say. As the memories of his encounter with Toris rushed back, crushing his chest as painfully as if he were laying beneath a ton's worth of bricks, Ivan couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut once again. It wasn't being stabbed that had hurt him so deeply. The real reason for all this pain was that one glimpse of the knife, which had brought back all those carefully repressed memories.

He felt Alfred's hand on his shoulder. The young man's worried voice reverberated in his ears, annoying yet reassuring at the same time.

"I am well, Alfred," said Ivan tiredly. Hiding the fear that gnawed away at his innards was going to be difficult. But revealing his weakness to Alfred would be even worse. Ivan already felt uncomfortable at their current intimacy.

"Don't you try that on me!" Ivan unwillingly opened his eyes to face Alfred, who had suddenly bristled at the man's calm, childish tone, "You just got stabbed, you've got a fever, and I was too much of a selfish bastard to take you to the hospital! You're not 'well', Ivan. It's all my fault you're in this mess!" Alfred was gripping his hand tightly at this point.

Ivan couldn't help but notice that they were, once again, polar opposites. They were both afraid, angry, and burned with self-loathing. But while Alfred had become serious in demeanor, Ivan faced the situation with feigned calm and his trademark childish grin.

"As far as I can see," Ivan said in the same placid tone, "It was my curiosity that had gotten the best of me and," he stopped, gauging his own self-control, "And you saw what I almost did to your friend. I almost killed him. And it could happened again!" he was mortified to feel tears spilling down his face, "You should really consider leaving. I'm not the type of person you want to be around," he finished weakly.

"You couldn't be more wrong!" Alfred's angry voice resonated through the dusty room. Ivan flinched involuntarily. "About the thing with Toris, you had to protect yourself! He was threatening you with a knife, but it was stupid of him to try to attack such an awesomely strong guy like you. He had it coming. And anyway it was you who got hurt, not him. And he… he made you cry."

As resonating silence dropped down on the two of them after that outburst. Alfred still hadn't moved from his kneeling position beside the couch. He seemed to be observing the slender fingers of Ivan's hand. Despite their proximity, they avoided each other's eyes.

"Does it hurt?" Alfred asked at last, still not looking up at Ivan's face. It might have been the dim lighting, but Ivan thought that the man's face was an unusual sort of red.

Ivan considered lying, but he realized that it would be futile. Alfred had somehow exposed his true feelings twice, and Ivan doubted that the third time would be any different. "Yes," he said instead. Then one thought lead to another. "Why didn't you take me to the hospital?"

Alfred looked uncomfortable, but he spoke firmly, of quietly. "I couldn't let you or myself get noticed like that. Don't get me wrong though," he amended hurriedly, "If the bleeding hadn't stopped so quickly, I wouldn't have given it a second thought, I would've taken you to the hospital no matter what. I got a friend of mine to help out with all the medical stuff, though. There's no way he'll tell anyone about me. Or you."

"And why do you think I have anything to hide?" Ivan asked cautiously. Alfred was onto him, he could feel it.

"You hide yourself," Alfred replied, still strangely serious, "You keep your windows shuttered all the time and, though I may be mistaken, you weren't afraid of Toris attacking you back there. You were afraid of the knife. And it wasn't for the obvious reasons either," after a quick glance at the expression on Ivan's face, Alfred spoke more gently, "But you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Ivan looked down at their intertwined hands. He doubted it was the fever that made his stomach flutter uncomfortably at the sight. "And you don't have to tell me anything about yourself then," was all he could say. It was only fair.

* * *

Gaaah that was hard to write. I have emotionality of rock. That is my reason for failing so hard at this chapter.

I doubt I'll be writing much in the next month, with AP's coming up and all that.

A great many thanks to all the nice people who reviewed chapter 4: The Fujoshi, RasalynnLynx, haruka4676, evilqueen13, Usagi323, cake-error, xXIceXxShatteredXx, and LapinNoirDeCalifornie

hope I didn't miss anyone on my customary "reviewer hall of fame" hehe ^_^

Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Ivan opened his eyes to the usual comforting darkness and the muffled sounds of morning. The stab wound throbbed painfully; the painkillers he'd taken last night had definitely worn off. _Last night..._

His thoughts turned to the strange feelings he'd experienced then. Alfred' s touch still burned his hand. He didn't understand the warmth he now felt in his chest at the memory. It was pleasant, nothing like the fear and guilt that had gnawed at his heart in the past years. When he thought of Alfred' s smile, his kind eyes and boundless energy, Ivan couldn't hate himself.

"Ivan?"

He jumped involuntarily at the sound of Alfred's voice. The man in question was standing at the doorway. Ivan almost missed the trademark grin that had been absent since yesterday's bizarre events. Now he looked concerned and a little hesitant. It didn't suit him, this strange sobriety.

"Yes?" Ivan tried to keep his voice neutral, but a slight tremor still sneaked into that one three-letter word. It was harder to face Alfred after the closeness they shared than Ivan thought it would be.

Alfred stepped closer. Just stepped, not bounced like he used to. _He's like this because of me, _Ivan though with a pang of guilt.

"Are you ok?" asked Alfred, "You look a little red. You're not feeling feverish, are you?"

"N-no. I -I am fine," Ivan stuttered in reply. He would never admit that the unwelcome blush on his face had nothing to do with fever and everything to do with Alfred's increasing proximity.

This was all kinds of wrong. At first he'd felt nothing but irritation at the American's presence. He _was _annoying, always sticking his nose into other people's business, imposing himself quite unexpectedly on Ivan's quiet, lonely life.

Alfred moved closer still. "Are you sure? No offense man, but you don't look fine. Let me just -"

"No!" Before he could think properly, Ivan found himself on his feet. He didn't know why exactly he didn't want Alfred to touch him again. It felt wrong to know that the touch would make him happier and warmer than a bottle of his best vodka. He wasn't supposed to feel anything like this, especially towards this roommate of his.

"Hey, Ivan! What's wrong?" Alfred's concerned voice broke through the strange haze that enveloped Ivan's mind. Maybe he wasn't supposed to be up just yet.

He tried to back away a little more while grappling at the couch arm for support. It mysteriously eluded his grasp and Ivan felt himself falling forward. Through the multitude of stars that obscured his vision he saw Alfred's eyes widen further behind the omnipresent glasses. Hand still clutching at the air in a desperate attempt to grasp something that might support him, anything, Ivan fell_. _

He'd mentally braced himself for a painful collision with the floor, none came. Instead Ivan felt arms holding him up, Alfred's arms. The guy was certainly stronger than he'd first thought.

If he could, Ivan would have laughed at the irony. But the touch that he'd tried so hard to escape was now sending rushes of heat down his body. He froze, mortified at the absurdity of the situation.

He heard Alfred calling his name through what seemed like a thick layer of blankets. "Ivan, man, talk to me." Ivan tried to speak. He heard the urgency in Alfred's voice, and he wanted to tell him that he was fine, that there was really no need to sound so worried. Ivan didn't deserve Alfred's concern.

But he couldn't utter a single word. So Alfred still held onto him, giving him the support that Ivan's own legs couldn't provide at the moment. He half-dragged, half-carried Ivan back towards the couch.

Ivan didn't know what to do. He listened as Alfred spoke, his voice strained with exertion. "It's all right, I got you," he kept saying, "We're almost there."

Once he had been deposited onto that abominably creaky couch, Ivan could no longer avoid the blue eyes that stared at him, shining with concern. He could feel his face burning with embarrassment.

The feeling of Alfred's hand on his. Alfred was checking his pulse, most likely.

"Alfred," Ivan managed to choke out.

The other man's eyes turned back to his face. "Ivan!" he breathed a sigh of relief, "You really freaked me out."

"I'm sorry."

"You're not ready to move yet, you know," Alfred didn't sound angry. He spoke more softly than Ivan had ever heard him speak before, "What happened to you?"

Ivan hesitated. He felt an absurd yearning to tell Alfred the truth, but it sounded wrong even in his head. No to mention that as a monster, Ivan felt he was undeserving even of the right to open up his own feelings.

Instead he just shrugged, avoiding Alfred's eyes. He tried to pull his hand from Alfred's grip, but that was not as easy as he first thought it would be.

"You're still lying to me," Alfred said sadly, still holding on to Ivan's wrist with a firm grip, "Ivan, it's alright to tell me if something's wrong."

And, all of a sudden, Ivan knew that he couldn't hold in this desire much longer. It was impossible, no matter how fear and self-loathing held him back, not to tell Alfred what he really felt. A painful lump formed in Ivan's throat, and a strange pressure constricted his chest. It was hard to breathe all of a sudden.

_Oh no, _Ivan knew what was coming, _All this because of a guy I haven't even known for a week? I really am insane. _

He felt a tear slide down his cheek.

* * *

I'm back with more of this... thing.

thanks to everyone who reviewed my last chapter!

I really enjoy reading h/c but now I see that I'm not very good at writing it. Aww.


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